


I'm not, I swear!

by Smiles_and_veils



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, But he really is, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Top Sherlock, but not really, john isn't gay!, just fun times in a camp for ashamed homosexuals, sorry for the bad tags!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7159160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiles_and_veils/pseuds/Smiles_and_veils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shit. Shit. And more shit. How did this happen, he wasn't even gay! Right?! </p><p>John wasn't gay, not even bi. He didn't have anything against homosexuals, he just wasn't one. </p><p>The problem is no one seems to share his belief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shock Factor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So hello. This is my first fic. I just wanted to write some good ol' fashioned anal sex. 
> 
> Umm...comments are appreciated! Thanks for reading.

Damn Jason Hayes, and his gay porn too. It was because of him that I was in this predicament. It was because of his need to fuck with people's lives that I was in this awkward situation.

This awkward situation was being told my ass was “the perkiest he’s ever seen” and that he’d totally “do me.” I was currently located at Terri Blowman’s Camp for Ashamed LGBT Children. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking, is that really a thing? And yes, yes it is. I was painfully aware of that fact. Now you must be thinking, so are you an ashamed LGBT child? No, no, I am not. I am a totally normal 17 year old straight male, who has a lovely girlfriend, by the way.

The problem is, nobody else seems to believe me.

It all started a week ago…  
…  
It was the last week of school. We were doing nothing but watching a movie, me and Jason were fooling around when I accidently knocked down a vase (typical, I know). The teacher screamed and asked who did it, in a moment I was back to being a twelve year old, and I pointed at Jason. Parents were called, Jason was reamed out, and everything was fine. Or so I thought. 

In hindsight I should have known Jason would get his revenge, he was way too cool about the whole thing. Jason was always a mischievous fellow, and he always had to have the upper hand. Always had to have the last word.

But I did not realize that when walking home on the fateful last day of school. Oh! If I had just not messed with Jason then everything would be fine...but no. I knew he would get his revenge I just didn't know how...ah but I digress, here is the real story!

I had just reached home and let myself in, there’s something you need to know about my family. My mother has this odd habit of going through my school books at the end of the year. I guess she likes to see all my papers and such. Which isn’t a problem, my grades are immaculate and my binders as neat as my bedroom. (Yes, yes, I like things clean. It doesn't mean I'm gay! You perverts…).

So, typically this isn’t a problem, but it is a problem this year. 

Oh, yes, it's a problem.

Because this is the year I pissed off Jason Hayes, this is also the year I told Jason Hayes about my mother's little habit, and this is the year he slipped gay porno mags in my backpack.

This is what they call a perfect storm I believe.

It was almost in slow motion, watching my mother zip open my backpack as I bit into an apple. And slowly she pulls out a shiny magazine...wait? What is that? My backpack is neat, nothing out of place, what is this little thing booklet there? My mother looked at the cover, little frown lines creasing her forehead, then she looked at me.

And dropped down a graphic image of two guys doing it on the kitchen table.

Time froze. And it was a long time before I looked up again. I barely processed my fingers slipping, and the apple falling to the floor. Slowly, I turned to face my mother, she was looking at me, almost...amused?

“Something you need to tell me, John?” She asked, smirking.

“I...um...not. That’s not...I'm not gay!” I choked.  
She walked around the counter and pulled me into a bear hug. Another one of her end of the school year habits.

“Oh sweetheart it’s okay if you are! I have my fair share of experiments before I met your father. Oh, there was this one girl, boy, she could bend like…”

“NO! Mom, I really don't want to hear about your college experiences, thank you!”

“Well, okay sweetie, dinner will be ready in about an hour. And, dear, I know being a teenage boy can be difficult, but lets try and leave the more “adult” things at home next time, alright?”

I ran upstairs screaming “lalalala”, I did not want to hear about that, no, no sir. Yeah, so what, I grabbed the porn on the way up, no need for it to linger with my mother. 

Ah, my room, my sanctuary, my haven, I collapsed onto my bed. The school year was finally over. But, how did the magazines get into my back in the first place? It's not like I own such things, and even if I did I wouldn't bring them to school. So who-

My phone buzzed.

Jason- Did you get my present bitch? Payback is sweet.

Well that answers my question. What a dick, but I suppose I brought it on myself...what harm could it do anyways? Mom seemed cool enough about it, and as long as she was okay, I was. 

Me- Fuck you, my mom saw that shit.

I really wasn't all that angry, Jason was my good friend, these things happen. Normally it's not about gay porn, but there’s a first for anything! 

Jason- Oh, don't get your panties in a twist, If I don't pay you back then my whole rep goes to shit. It's not that big of a deal.

This was true , Jason had a reputation for paying people back when they deserved it, and I did get him a reaming out from his mother. Well, I guess we can be cool, as long as he keeps the gay porn to a minimum. 

Me- Let's stop with the gay porn then. You made your point. 

There, that should do it.

Jason- Fine, a whole bunch of the crew is goin’ to Andrew’s house at 9 tonite, you’re invited if you wanna stop by…

Hmm...Andrew was a pretty nice dude. And his parents just got a new jacuzzi, and they're out of town. I didn't see a downside. Okay, why not?

My fatal mistake.

Me- Okay, sure.  
…  
Five hours later, I'm sitting in a jacuzzi. Jason and me had a little spat, but we’re all good now. I have one problem, just one, I mean it's not a major one no, oh no, it’s just…

Jason Hayes, the dick, is announcing to everyone that I’m gay!

Which I’m not!

The ginger, Jason, stumbled up to the stage, visibly intoxicated. Andrew came from a pretty well off family, but he wasn't one of those guys who bragged about it, so everyone liked him. Why is this important? Well, since Andrew was rich he decided to hire a band to play the end of the year party. 

The stage that Jason is walking on now, interrupting the music, and announcing to the entire 11th grade class that I am a homosexual, which I am not.

“Heyyyy, oi, everyone!” Jason called, tapping the mic obnoxiously. The crowd stilled, quieted and everyone turned to Jason.

“I would just like to say, that this year, this year, THIS YEAR, has been the best damned junior year a girl coulda asked for!” He said mockingly, putting his hand over his chest. 

Everyone laughed.

“And that Virginia Wayne is the finest piece of ass this school has ever seen-”Some laughed and a few wolf whistled, Gin turned away blushing”-Oh! And speaking about ass, I would like to say a few words about my friend, oh my dearest friend, John.” 

This got an uneasy half hearted laugh.

“See, my friend Johnny here, he likes to suck ass. Quite literally if I may add, he's gayer than a kid on christmas morning. Yup you heard me! A big ol’ knob jockey, a regular twink, a flag waving, dick sucking, anal fucking homose-”Jason was cut off by Andrew.

“Okay, okay, Jason I think we’ve heard enough…”

“NO!” He cried, grappling for the mic.

I watched with horror as Jason was forcibly extracted from the stage and taken into another room to “cool off”. 

Meanwhile, I was dying. My life, in all it's glory, was ruined, and Jason Hayes was to blame. Jason Hayes, how did I not see it before? My downfall. Oh lord, was this the end?

Little did I know, it had just begun.


	2. When it rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a rough morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, chapter two woo! Let's do this fanfic. 
> 
> There will be more, well, adult material I later chapters. Hang in there!

Where was I? And what was that bright thing? And why did my head hurt? And why was there an arm wrapped around my waist?! I didn't, I couldn’t, no…

I opened my eyes, and jerked up quickly. Mistake, the light bled into my eyes like molten lava. I closed them again. Ugh, it wasn't like me to get blackout drunk, what happened last night? I couldn't remember anything beyond…

A big ol’ knob jockey…

Oh, christ! I can't believe this! Jason, what a bloody wanker, I mean, it's to be expected that he gets slightly rowdy when he's drunk.

But this? 

Okay, it's time to do it, to face the daylight. I cracked my eyes open, the light still stung, but it was more bearable. I could just make out a room, oh thank god! It was mine.

Then who was the mysterious arm wrapper? I turned, still feeling slightly sick. And there she was, illuminated in light, my perfect angel, my goddess, my best friend...Mary Morstan. 

Fully clothed...as was I. Oh, good, I sure didn't want my first time to be when I was drunk off my ass. Yes, yes, I’m still a virgin, not from lack of interest! Just lack of the right person. Mary was all that and more, but we were taking it slow, we wanted it to be special, with candles, and flowers, and...stop looking at me like that!

Who cares if I’m a little crazy about her? I'm pretty sure she liked me just as much. She began to stir, turning over she cracked her eyes open and smiled at me. 

“Looks like you had a rough night last night.” Mary stated, with a coy smile. 

I paused for a moment. 

“What happened? And how did you get involved?” I asked, concerned about my behavior. 

She sat up, straightening her hair and such, gathering her thoughts. 

“You called me up at eleven, clearly intoxicated, and asked me to come to this party at Andrews house. I was planning to show up anyways, so I stopped by. You asked me if I wanted to get out of there. So, we did, walked around for a bit, and then it was so late I just crashed at your place. That's all that happened” She finished. 

“Did I...was I-” I started. 

“You were the perfect gentlemen, if not, a little silly. You're certainly something when under the influence.” 

I couldn't help but notice how she avoided the word drunk. Also, what happened before she showed up, there's a two hour gap in her story. I'm actually quite surprised I stayed at the party at all. Sober me would have gone home right away. 

There was something else, edging at the back of my consciousness, it spoke of mistakes and...betrayal? If I could just remember…

Oh, I so called it…

I don't swing that way mate. Back off. 

Did someone try and come on to me? If so, who? Were they gay? I obviously didn't return the affection, I'm straight after all. I needed answers. 

“...John? John!” Mary exclaimed. 

I snapped out of it and turned to face her. 

“ Yes, Mary?”

“ I said I'm going to take off, my parents are probably worried about me. I had a fun time last night, I'll call you!” She said. 

“Oh, yes, of course. I will see you soon. Have a good day.” I replied, still dazed. 

She let herself out, while I mentally slapped myself. John Hamish Watson, you were going to drive that nice girl away if you didn't get a grip. 

Now, as for last night. Time to find out what happened. Where was my phone? I spent a few minutes shuffling around my room, only to find it under my bed, typical. 

I turned it on, intending to text Jason, only to find I already had three texts from him, as well as a few more from other people. 

They read, as follows:

Andrew- Congrats mate, I wouldn't have guessed it, but way to go!

He must be talking about Mary. 

Molly( the quiet one)- Good luck, John! I hope you guys are happy together. 

That's nice, but who was I happy with? Mary, hopefully. 

Dean- Do you have my coat?

Probably not. 

Jason- What happened last night? I don't remember. 

That makes two of us. 

Jason- Oh, wait, I'm getting bits and pieces. Sorry, I'm not interested, drunk me is another person! :p. 

What? What? No?

The last text from Jason was a picture, of me and him...making out? Like tongue down the throat, tonsil licking, drinking each other's spit making out. But, but, but...what?

Number one: I'm not gay. 

Number two: Shortly before that, Jason “outed” me. 

Number three: HE'S AN ASS. 

So, why, how and when did this happen? And how many people knew? It seemed as though Andrew and Molly knew. 

I checked my camera roll, only to find six more pictures of us sucking face. That's it, I'm calling Jason. 

I clicked the little button, and impatiently waited for him to answer. 

On the third ring he picked up. 

“Hello?” He asked, clearly groggy. 

“What the hell happened last night?” I asked angrily. 

“You don't remember?”

I sighed. No, I'm calling you for fun. Idiot. 

“No idea.” I replied, snappily. 

“When I was off cooling off, you came up and started yelling at me. Then you just started making out with me. It was about thirty minutes after the whole speech I made, sorry about that by the way, I guess I was drunk enough to kiss back. I didn't know you were actually gay. Sorry mate.” He finished. 

What? I started this whole thing? I can't believe this. I'm not gay! And I have a girlfriend! Oh god, what would Mary think? Jesus. 

“I'm not gay!”

“That's not what your tongue down my throat was saying.” 

I hung up. I needed time to process this, it was time to face my mother anyways. 

I made my way into the hall and down each stair with trepidation. She was normally pretty cool with this kind of thing, but you never know. 

As I walked into the kitchen I knew something was wrong. My father was there standing next to her. 

In her hand he was holding a picture of me and Jason, well you know, snogging. 

Shit. Shit. And more shit.


	3. And the storm rages on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a talk with his mommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. This absolutely sucks :(
> 
> Finals at school! I'll be able to write more in The summer!
> 
> Plus Sherlock action in the next chapter!
> 
> *sighs*

There are times in every person's life when they ask themselves, could more shit go wrong right now? 

This was that time for me. 

And the answer was yes, yes, more shit could go wrong. A lot more. 

“Okay, sweetie, this is becoming a problem.” My mom stated, once again holding up the picture. 

I was appalled, what? Like, how? Who? When? My thoughts weren't very coherent. 

“How did you get that?” I asked abruptly. 

She sighed, gripping my father's shoulder. They had one of their signature “concerned for John” looks. And a mutual telepathy conversation. 

“You sent me this at 10:30, with the message ‘looks like you were right mom’”. She answered. 

I didn't think it was possible for me to get more embarrassed, but somehow my face grew more red, the color of tomatoes.

“Oh, um, I'm sorry mom and dad,” I apologized. 

She rushed up to me, eclipsing me in a monster hug. Petting my hair and such things. It was nice, a little motherly comfort (in the right time and place) never hurt. 

“Oh, honey, it's okay that you're gay. Really. And me and your father have found a place that we think can help you with all these new feelings. It's nothing too big or anything, just a support group of sorts. Well, it's more of a camp really.”

This was when the hugging stopped. I backed away from my mother. She was giving me a look of sympathy, and my father was nodding in the background (he didn't talk much). 

“But I'm not gay.” I stated. 

“See, Hamish, this is the kind of denial that needs to stop.” She said directly to my father. 

He nodded his agreement, typical.

“I'm not, I swear!” I exclaimed desperately. 

She sighed again. Visibly fed up. That's when I saw the change, her face took on that Military Sergeant look. Growing hard and cold. The look that I had only seen once or twice before. The look that business. 

The look that meant I lost. 

“John Watson, this is going to happen. No arguing.” She said, with complete authority. 

It was over. 

“Yes, mother.” 

…

I had been instructed to say my last goodbyes. Like I had cancer or something. I was just a fake homosexual, going to a camp for a month. 

A WHOLE GODDAMNED MONTH. It's bad enough that everyone thought I was gay. But now, I had to spend a month talking about my feelings. Great. 

“Hey, Mary,” I greeted. 

“John,” she replied cooly. 

“So, um, I'm not sure if you've heard, but me and Jason. Um…”

I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying...WHY???

“Yes, John, I’ve heard. Care to explain?” 

I sighed. I really hadn't been looking forward to this. I couldn't believe this had happened. All in the span of three days too. 

“...I swear, Mary, I don't remember any of it. It didn't mean a thing.” I finished, mentally exhausted. 

This was not good. Mary had an expression I had only seen once before (when I had made that slightly sexist joke. ONCE. JUST ONCE.) that face meant trouble. 

“John, sweetie, I love you. But you obviously have some stuff to figure out. So, it's probably best we take a break. At least until you get back from this camp or whatever.” 

And then she was gone


	4. Day One: A Social experiment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a liar! Ahh! It's been soooooo long since I've posted. Sorry!
> 
> Maybe this will help?

The bus was dirty. I sat in a rolling, shaking seat. It was like going to prison, my hopes and dreams of marrying Mary dashed, broken, as dead as the ferret I had seen on the side of the room. The camp was out in the countryside, I bet it was as dirty as the bus I was riding. There were only five or so more people on the bus with me.

A young teen, younger than me, probably about fifteen years of age. He was adorned with several piercings, and poorly dyed shoulder length hair (My god his roots were showing, lord have mercy). He was listening to some kind of music, something heavy judging by his head pumping.

There was a shy looking quiet kid, his nose tucked in a large book, every once and awhile he would scan around him nervously, like someone was going to jump out at him. His messy blond hair curled down to his ears. Cute. (wait what?)

The third was my age or older, he wore a tight fitting shirt, even tighter jeans, and a slight smirk. Every once and awhile that smirk would turn to a grimace, followed by a not-so-subtle adjustment to the crotch area. 

The last two were by far the most interesting. They sat together, squabbling it would seem. The first had light brown hair, combed back neatly, was dressed nicely, his features were sharp, but held a boyish quality to them. He was sitting quietly, while the other was heated.

The other one was...interesting. No, more than that really, he was captivating. It was almost as though a light was being shone upon him. His dark brown hair curled to his ears, he was fit, a teasing of muscle seemed to lie under his button up shirt. His features were softer than his companion, lips were plush, and those eyes… were they blue? Green? Oh, what does it matter, as long as I could keep staring at them...No.

No, John these aren’t straight thoughts. You don’t stare at dudes. You like girls, pretty nice girls, that have long bro-blonde hair and blue-green eyes. Pretty girls.

But, damn, those cheekbones.

The interesting one stood up, made a final comment to his partner, and sternly walked away. Oh my word, was he coming over here?

Indeed he was, he stomped over to my two seater and plopped himself down, the seat wasn't that big and we were so close together that our knees were touching. Gulp.

“Sherlock,” the man said, in an oh-so sinful voice, “I’m seventeen,as are you of course, John. H. Watson. What’s the H? Henry? Oh nevermind, we can always get to that later. Parent’s send you here, huh? Girlfriend broke up with you too? That’s rough.”

I was taken aback, how could he know all this.

“How did you know, that was amazing?!” I questioned.

He seemed surprised, perhaps a hint of a smile even touched on his face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by cool composure instead.

“Well, your name is written on your luggage, your parents obviously sent you here, because you seem generally unhappy with your arrangement. And the girlfriend, you’ve checked your phone 23 times since we’ve started traveling, each time you come back with a look of disappointment. Only love is that obsessive. Waiting for a message perhaps? It's not going to come. You're gay, John.”

“I am not!” I exclaimed for the millionth time this week.

“Oh, John, I think you are, no, in fact I know you are. I intend on proving it. See, me and my brother have a little bet going on. He thinks you're straight, sent here my mistake. While I, on the other hand think you're gay, masquerading as straight to prove something. We’ll get into that later, we do have a whole month after all.”

I was shocked, and a little hurt. Was I just some game to these people? I surely hope not.

“I don't appreciate being tied up in this little game of yours, and you're wrong, I’m straight.”

Blue-green eyes narrow, and a smirk finds it's home on Sherlock’s mouth. Hands, his hands find their way to my wrist, two fingers placed casually there. Why is he so close, distance is just a word, there is no space between us. Lips are centimeters from mine, my heartbeat quickens, the intensity of his gaze...The bus stops. 

“Everybody out!” The driver shouts. 

He pulls away. 

“Oh, yes, we are going to have a good time. And I believe you will come to enjoy this little game a lot more than you think.” He says, standing up, and walking towards the exit. 

What just happened? What? What?! What was that? Come on, John, think coherently. He is just a man. You're straight. Straight. Stra-

“Oh, John?!” Sherlock called from the front of the bus. 

Gulp. 

“What?!” I snapped. 

“Your pulse quickened.”

And then he was gone. 

Shit.


	5. Cabin Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds his cabin and makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have written in so, so long. I can't promise I'll write quickly, but I will write.

What an asshole. What a complete and utter asshole. I absolutely cannot believe the embarrassment and shame I was just subjected to. I watch as his figure flounces away with that troublesome brother of his, the older brother sends me a wink over his shoulder. Who were these deviants? And just what kind of camp was this?

The shy blond haired kid to my left gives me a sympathetic smile, oh god, he must have seen the whole thing. I grab my luggage as dyed hair guy rushes past me, head still wrapped up in his music. Sighing, I check my phone one more time, before heading down the aisle. Nothing. 

"Twenty-four!" Comes a cry of that rich, melodic voice from outside the window. 

How did he even know? 

Upon finally leaving the bus, and gazing out across the campsite, I found a site rather interesting to the eyes. Hundreds of teens, from roughly 14 to 19, were lined up at plastic white tables to find their last name, which held their cabin number. At least, that's what a spunky young woman was yelling at all of us.

I scanned the area to find Sherlock and his brother. The older brother was heading off towards a table labeled counselors, and Sherlock towards the H section. As if sensing my gaze, he turned toward me and fixed me with that sly smile of his. 

I turned away blushing and made my way to the Ws. The blond kid from the bus was in the line just in front of me. Feeling a sudden urge to conversate, I turned towards him, and gave him a confident smile. 

"Hello, I'm John Watson," I said brightly. 

"Adam Walker," he said quietly, snapping his eyes upward. 

"What brings you to a place like this?" I asked him. 

"Well, I dunno, maybe it's the fresh mountain air?" He said sarcastically. 

Laughing at his sudden flush of confidence, and relishing the smile on his face, I said:

"Wow! Who would have thought it? Me too. Yes, I often enjoy ventures of a camping nature."

He gave an airy laugh at my poor joke and became suddenly silent. 

"My mom," he started after a bit, "she thought it was a good idea. Ever since my dad died, I've been a bit more reserved, she figured a place like this would bring me out of my shell. Being around, uh, like minded individuals, and all that."

The line was growing shorter, soon we would be serviced. He was next. 

"I'm sorry about your dad, it must be so rough without him. But I'm afraid you won't find a like minded individual in me, I don't swing that way."

It was almost divine, the way his face changed, a quirk upwards of the lips, and a light in the eyes that spoke of a godly revelation. 

"Whatever you say, John, but I saw the way you looked at that Sherlock Holmes. Once he's got a victim in his sights he doesn't relent. Believe me, I was here last year. I saw what him and Jim were like."

And with that, he went to get his cabin number and was gone. To Cabin Nine apparently. 

"Next," an airy female voice called. 

I moved up to find her there, a slight of frame, brown haired and skinned curly haired female. She had a look of incredible discontent written all over her face. Her name tag read, 'Sally.'

"Name?" She said dryly. 

"Uh, Watson. John Watson."

She shuffled for a few minutes to hand me a card that read, 'Cabin Six.'

"Oh, god. Good luck, you poor soul."

I regarded her curiously. 

"What makes you say that?"

"Sherlock Holmes always has Cabin Six. That fucking troublemaker."

I groaned aloud as she nodded her sympathies. 

"Met him, have you?"

I nodded. 

"Oh yes, he has," came that smooth rich voice from behind me. 

I whipped around to find him right there. Tight wet shirt clasping his body in all the right places. Why was he wet? Oh, did it matter, when those little beads of water were dripping down his chocolate locks onto his plush reddened lips?

"I, uh, what?" I stuttered, incoherently. 

A smile that could wipe many women(men) off their feet adorned his face. 

"Oh, John," he said deeply, "I didn't take you for a fool. Do speak full sentences."

"You poor bastard," Sally lamented from the side. 

"Why are you wet?" I asked him, finally gathering my thoughts. 

"Am I? Oh yes, of course, I was hot so I took a dive in the lake." He reasoned to me. 

"Why, of course. Makes sense, yes," I said more to myself than him. 

"But you're right! It's foolish to keep on wet clothes." 

And, thus, he threw off his shirt. 

He threw off his shirt. 

He thre-

Nosebleed. 

His skin was so pure and white, clear and unscarred. He was perfect. There's no other word for it. Toned, but not too toned. Pink, medium size nipples. And hairless. Like a marble statue, a Greek god standing above his pitiless servants demanding attention. Oh, and attention he would get. He was by far the hottest guy I had ever seen. Beautiful. He was beautiful, like a deer, a fragile doe in the face of no danger in a forest of stillness and majesty, so utterly untouched-

"John?" He asked me, "Are you in there? This is going to be much easier than previously anticipated."

That snapped me out of it. 

"Get our of my way with your devilish toned chest and marble statue pureness! I desire women! Women, I tell you, demon! Be gone, vile temptation, and leave me to take my leave in Cabin Six!"

Apparently, I turned into a 19th century civilian when I was nervous. I rushed off with my luggage to the main part of the camp. 

"How odd. This is going to be quite fun," came the observation from behind me. 

I pushed on to the lake and cabins. The scenery was really beautiful. Snow capped mountains in the distance overlooked a gently moving lake, and the forest that surrounded the whole campsite was a lush green. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here. 

I walked down to find Cabin Six, a small little building, secluded from the others by the far side of the lake. 

Walking inside, it was, surprisingly, air conditioned and rather nice. A bit worn down, yes, but it was smaller than the others. With only four beds... four beds. 

Less people. Less people meant more Sherlock, more Sherlock, less ability for me to hold my resolve. 

"Damn it, John Watson! You are a straight male, Sherlock would not break you down. In fact, he has no ability to. None. You do not desire men, and have never had the slightest inclination to before this instance.   
Perhaps it was just him, his damn chiseled jawline and high cheekbones would not defeat me! No!" I said to myself aloud. 

The empty room was my only witness. 

"Why are you so resolved to be straight, John?" Sherlock asked from behind me. 

Okay, so maybe not my only witness. I turned around to face him slowly. 

"How are you everywhere I am?" I demanded shortly. 

The dim light of the cold, deserted room should have made his eyes look less bright, but even still, they looked like two glittering sapphires. A smirk pulled his lips taut and tight as he replied:

"This is my room too, John."

With this statement, he splayed out his hands innocently, gesturing to the empty beds and his luggage. 

"Okay, then where is everyone else?" I questioned. 

"There is no one else," he answered, chuckling quietly. 

Panic tore at my chest. 

"What do you mean, there's two other beds?"

He began to move closer, backing me into a corner and against the bed. 

"Well, one of them I bribed to go away, and the other, well, let's just say he had to go home. A little case of food poisoning." 

His eyes were so close now, two hypnotic points of light. 

"Did you...did you, uh poison..." I trailed off. 

A smirk. 

"All semantics," he told me. 

And with that, he thrust his face against fine. Soft, plump lips touching my own. 

I froze, pulse jumping I'm sure, as the chaste kiss continued. He didn't feel like a guy. His lips were just as soft as Mary's, maybe even more so. He slipped in his tongue. 

He slipped in his tongue. 

Oh, fuck no!

I pushed him away from me, rather violently and graced him with a swift strike to the chin and he stumbled backward, touching his face. 

I fled from the room, shouting, "Karate, bitch!"

But as much as I hate to admit it, it wasn't a bad kiss.


	6. Why is Sherlock being a little sesitive son of a bitch, I just hit him in the face after all?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock talk about their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, how's it going guys? I actually added another chapter without waiting a year! Are you proud of me?

__I found camp life to be somewhat tolerable. The campers were mostly left to their own devices, with serval options for entertainment. There was the lake and pool, which were fan favorites among all the campers. A field where games like capture-the-flag and touch football could be played. And a main building which held a lounge filled with board games and a ping pong table.

The only time the counselors intervened is when there was a dispute between a few campers or to gather us for the nightly meeting.

I couldn't stand the nightly meetings. We all broke off into groups to 'share our feelings' and 'grow.' Maybe some people found it helpful, but I just found it to be a waste of time. I wasn't ashamed of myself, I wasn't in denial, I was simply straight.

I had resided here a for few days, and Sherlock had been very quiet. Too quiet. We'd been sleeping in the same cabin for days now and ever since the kiss, he hadn't said a damn thing. Which was fine by me, but one would think he'd want to continue pestering me. I mean, wasn't he all about proving I was gay? (Which I'm not, by the way.)

On the fourth day, I broke.

We were sitting in the cabin together, me on my bed and him on his, to my right. It was about eleven at night. I was on my phone, of course, scanning for any sign of Mary. I really did love her, but she hadn't said a word. Nothing. Did our time together mean anything to her?

Tired of waiting for a call that would never come, I shut off my phone to stare at the oh-so-interesting celling. Risking a glance, I looked over toward him. He was reading 'The Da Vinci Code.'

I sat there comfortably, listening to his soft page turning in the lamplight. He read extremely fast. A turn every few seconds, four seconds to be exact. I started to time them, one, two, three, four, turn. One, two, three, four, turn. One, two, three...

"You read very fast," I observed quietly, breaking the comfortable silence I had enjoyed.

I turned to face him. He looked perturbed. It appeared as though I had interrupted his reading. Well, obviously I had.

"Yes, John. I do."

He returned to his reading without another word.

I let a few more minutes pass, the silence enveloped me again, this time it was not comfortable. I felt guilty.

"Are you mad at me or something?" I asked, embarrassed that I was so insecure. He assaulted my mouth for Christ's sake! I'm sorry he got his feelings hurt.

Sighing, he slowly set down his book, and turned to face me.

"What do you want from me, John? You're obviously not gay, you hit me in the face, I got the message. I saw no reason to bother you further."

"Oh...well, good. It's no offense to you, but I'm straight."

"Mhm."

A moment of silence.

"There's no reason for us not to be friends though, I mean, we will be together for a whole month."

His face brightened. I thought I could see something beneath it, a sort of dull hope perhaps?

Oh well, I'll take what I can get.

"Yes, it would be beneficial for us to be civil with one another."

More silence.

"Is that good?" I questioned, gesturing to his book.

He sighs.

"It's absolute rubbish, John. I enjoy reading it simply for my own entertainment, not for any truth in the content. I don't even believe in God, so this holds no real world value," he replied dryly.

"I don't know about God. I certainly don't believe in any institutional religion, but God himself? Or itself? I hardly believe something that grand could have a gender. I can't believe in nothing, I simply can't. Take a look at something like the human body, how complex its structures are, how everything works in perfect unison. It's hard for me not to see the divine in that," I told him eagerly.

He rearranged so that his body was facing me, sitting cross legged. His eyes were alight with the philosophical discussion.

"Do you have an interest in Biology?"

I answered him immediately.

"Very much so. I'd love to work with it someday, perhaps in the field of medicine. It's just amazing to me how life finds a way."

A smile touched the corners of his mouth.

"Interesting," he said simply.

"What about you? Any idea what you want to do in college? How old are you anyways?"

"I'm 17, just turned a month or so ago. As for college, I have no idea. Might not even go. Everything seems to bore me after a while. Even humans. Although, they are rather interesting. Perhaps I'll go into Psychology or maybe criminal justice. Always had an interest there."

"Ah, so that's where the observational talent comes from," I reasoned, feeling a smile creep onto my face.

He returned my smile with a smirk. It drew my attention to his red lips, which reminded me of the kiss we shared, which wasn't all that bad. Rather good actually. Quite good indeed.

"Yes, John. I've always been a fan of observation, and I'm always right. Well, 97.4 percent of the time. But let's just round up, shall we?"

I nodded with sudden lack of interest in what he was saying. My new interest was watching the curl of his hair by his neck. Oh his neck, so flawless and pure white. Greek god.

"...anyways, I feel like turning in. Early day tomorrow. I think I'll sleep in the nude tonight. I find it much more comfortable and now that we're acquaintances I'm sure you won't mind. You're straight, after all," he said unbuttoning his shirt.

"Oh, uh no, of course not. Do, uh, do uh, what you need to do."

Why in God's name did I ever say yes? What the hell is wrong with me?

"Great."

And with that, he threw off his shirt, putting it into the dirty clothes bin at the end of his bed. I got another view of that gorgeous chest, oh dear, why were his jeans sitting so low on his hips? Why was he wearing such tight jeans? It was summertime...

At that moment, everything changed. He turned around.

Revealing to me his ass, in all its perfection. Still clothed in tight jeans it was godlike. How had I never seen that before? It was perfectly full, without being too large, perky and tight. Why? Why? Why did his ass have to be so amazing? That was my one weakness. Not breasts, not lips, not a good figure. Although all of those were desired, but an ass?

Oh my.

_John, you're straight._

Yeah, I'm straight, doesn't matter that he had the greatest ass I had ever seen in my entire life, I was straight. Straight.

_Not judging by that boner you're not._

"You can turn around, John. No need to watch me undress," he offered, starting to fiddle with the buttons on his pants.

Silently, I turned away to face the wall. I heard shuffling around for a few minutes and I raged hard within my pants. Finally the light turned off. (Shut up you, my erection doesn't mean a damn thing.)

"Goodnight, John."

...

I was with Mary. Her blonde hair wrapped around my fingers. I could taste her on my lips, feel the warmth of her mouth on my tongue. Her hands on my side, running down to my hips. The friction of her leg against my cock so perfectly, even though we were fully clothed.

I could smell the leather scent of her cologne. Wait...cologne? Mary doesn't wear cologne. And where were her breasts? The chest against mine was completely flat. Mary had nice C cup breasts.

And, when I opened my eyes, I saw rich dark brown curls. Not Mary's.

It was Sherlock. It was Sherlock's tongue in my mouth, Sherlock's chest against mine, Sherlock's hand finding its way from my hip bones and down into my jeans to wrap oh-so-perfectly around my dick.

He was better than Mary. Knew exactly what to do, gripping slowly from the base and working his way upward to the tip. Running his fingers over it, and using his other hand to massage my testicles. Something Mary never did. Something which I always cared for.

Dimly, in the back of my mind, I wanted to push him off. But with the way he was moving his hands, the comforting, steady presence of his tongue against mine, and the feeling of his soft curls in my fingers, my mind was clouded. Clouded and dulled.

I liked it. No doubts. No fears. No regrets.

His mouth detached from mine and I gave a moan of protest. Oh why? Why was he taking those full lips away from mine? All I wanted was to have them all over me. And that tongue to be back in my mouth.

I looked at him with offense, and found his blue eyes nearly gone with the black of his pupil. His reddened lips touched with saliva and that goddamn sexy grin all over his face. Look at that jawline. So crisp and clean and strong.

"Don't worry, John," he said in that deep voice of his. A little deeper now. Gravelly and rich, "I've got you."

He moved down my body, mouth near my groin, hands reassuringly gripping my thighs, making little circles there.

And then, he wrapped his lips around my exposed cock. It was heaven. Warm and wet and perfect. He opened wider and he took more of me into his mouth, tongue running along that little vein on the bottom, and when he moved up to the top, it circled my head.

Damn me to hell if he wasn't good with that tongue of his. All thoughts of pushing him off were gone in a haze of that tongue against me and the sight of those dilated blue eyes.

His hands were back to fondling my balls as I thrust into his face. He took one of his fingers, took his mouth off my cock, and placed it in his mouth. This coated it with saliva.

(What was he doing?)

He resumed his cock sucking, while his finger ventured south. Too south.

It's wet tip was against my hole, and without another word, he pushed it into me.

...

I woke with a start, hard, sweaty and uncomfortable. It was still night, perhaps early morning and Sherlock was still(oh thank God) asleep in the other bed. Blankets covering his naked form.

My dick was hard. Very hard, dripping with precum as I was close to orgasm.

I looked down at my tenting boxers.

"You little son of a bitch, what is your problem tonight?" I asked my throbbing dick.

"Oh no, no, no, you are not getting any damn release," I assured it.

Never before had I thought of anyone's fingers in my asshole, female or otherwise. That was a no fly zone. Not a fist to a finger was entering my virgin hole. No, no sir.

 

  _We'll see, John._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how did I do with the sex stuff? This is my...second(?) sex scene ever. So I'm a little inexperienced. Stick with me.


	7. Manhunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John play a little game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took me a bit longer to post, sorry everyone! But I hope it's well worth it. It's somewhat longer than what I usually write.

No man, woman, or certainly not child had ever made me desire to have a finger in my ass, and it definitely would stay that way. Dreaming of receiving a blow job is one thing, but anal fingering? Oh, hell no. A blow job is still a blow job, even if it is a bloke that's giving it, anal makes it something a little more bottomish. I probably only dreamt of Sherlock because he was undressing right before I slept. Yes. That's all this was, some dream association. I hadn't jerked off in a few days(it's hard when you're in a camp, okay? No pun intended) and I needed some kind of release, especially after holding off last night. The only problem was Sherlock constantly remained inside the cabin. 

But I had a plan. Oh yes, a plan of the highest caliber that would require the upmost level of skill, trust in me, my friend, I would jack off before the day was over. 

My plan was as follows, the nightly meeting was at nine o'clock tonight, so I would skip it and sneak off to the cabin in order to achieve my release. Then...wait. Yep, that was my whole plan. That's all it was. Skip the meeting and go have some fun. 

I made that out to be a lot more dramatic in my head. 

Anyways, getting back to the main plot after that tangent, waking up this morning after my dirty dream was an awkward affair. I had to gaze into the very eyes, so blue/green/hazel/indescribable, that I had imagined sucking me off the night before. I was forced to make small talk and bear through the most terrifying 'Sleep well?' I'd ever been asked in my entire life. 

It was like he knew, he always had the most aggravating air of superiority about him. He oozed 'I'm better than you' without even saying a word. Poised, proper and sharp as a dagger. He was built up so highly in my mind, amazing power and skill of observation. It made me antsy, the feeling of constantly being watched, being analyzed, it was disconcerting. I needed to get to know him, to both feel comfortable in my own skin, and potentially end these strange sexual desires for good. 

See, I have a proclivity towards sexual feelings for strong individuals. Individuals who challenge my mind and intellect, and, oh boy, did Sherlock do that. I'd only known him for a few days, and already I was intrigued. (Even with his whole, "You're gay, John" spiel, the intellectual challenge was still amazing.) But nobody is that perfect, it must be an act, he has to have a flaw, a weakness, and from there I can work on making him a friend. Even with an ass like that, surely it must be possible. 

So, to reiterate. 

Objective Number One: Jack off tonight while the meeting took place to gain release. 

Objective Number Two: Become friends with Sherlock and find his flaws, he must have one. 

IMPORTANT NOTE: John, whatever you do, do not look at his ass. 

There was to be a large came of 'manhunt' today. Which is basically hide and go seek tag, don't get me started on people calling it manhunt is complete and utter bullshit, if we're gonna play hide and go seek tag, call it hide and go seek tag, damnit. 

The counselors latched on to this idea and decided to make it a 'group bonding activity.' This meant the whole camp would be subjected to the game, instead of us doing our own thing. How was playing hide and go seek tag gonna make us bond? I had no idea. It would be perfectly alright though, I suppose everyone needed to be a kid sometimes. 

Sherlock was just SO happy about the whole thing, as we walked towards the main field, he was spewing hate. 

"Damn it, John! Damn it all! I could be analyzing those sperm samples right now, but no, they want me to go play tag!"

I choked on air. 

"Sperm samples? Why?" I asked him, very confused as to why this was happening. 

"I wanted to see the effects added zinc had on sperm, as zinc is supposed to promote a healthier prostate, but there is also a theory that it leads to prostate cancer. I want to see if it has any affect on sperm, a direct product of a healthy prostate. Perhaps I could put some truth behind one of the arguments."

I paused to look at him, he stopped as well, and we made eye contact for a few seconds. 

"That's fascinating," I said with all honestly. 

There was another moment of silence as we stood looking at one another. Sherlock had the most curious look behind his eyes, close to amazement. A shudder ran through me, I wanted to see that look again. 

"What is it?" I asked him almost defensively. 

"You're intriguing. Most people would have brushed that off as weird. It appears I've underestimated you."

"Oh," was all I said. 

We continued walking in amiable silence until we reached the open field where a large crowd of kids were gathered. 

We stood next to one another and waited for the game to begin. More kids assembled. 

Sherlock turned towards me. 

"Okay, John, if I'm playing this god forsaken game, I will win. Are you with me?" 

There was something undeniable in his eyes, and this could be the perfect opportunity to get to know him, achieving objective two. 

I smiled at him. His eyes were even more alight. 

"Fuck yes," I answered. I always loved a challenge. 

"Then get ready to run."

My heart skipped a beat at the prospect of a challenge. 

Shortly after that there was a whistle that silenced the crowd, a few counselors stood in the middle of the field, including Sherlock's brother, who was front and center. 

When he started to speak, Sherlock gave an audible huff. 

"Alright everybody," he began, "here in my hand"-he lifted up a fairly large bag-"are red chips, when you are found, you will turn in your chip, and when all the chips except the last two have been returned, then we will play an announcement and declare our winners. Understood?" 

There was a general buzz of agreement among the campers. 

One hand was raised, it was a girl with bright blue hair and a defined, controlled look about her. 

The brother turned to her, and with a finger pointed, he spoke:

"Yes, miss?"

"Yeah, why two winners, not one?"

A satisfied smile broke out upon his face. It reminded me of Sherlock, but more happy and less dissatisfied with life.

"Excellent question! Since this is a bonding exercise, we'll be partnering up! One chip per group, everybody," said Sherlock's brother cheerfully. His happiness was off-putting. He was so opposite from Sherlock, it didn't even seem like they could be brothers. What was his name anyways?

Sally, the female counselor who first greeted me, she took a step forward. 

"Hold hands with the partner of your choice everybody!" She shouted. 

That got a sort of awkward laugh from the crowd. 

"Ooh, kinky!" One rather flamboyant gentleman cried. 

How was holding hands kinky? I didn't know. Despite my rationality, I still blushed when Sherlock's soft hand brushed against my own. 

I made awkward eye contact with Adam for a minute as he gave me a look that said, 'I told you so.' He was partnered with the blue haired girl from before. His gaze caused me to become squeamish, and it seemed Sherlock detected my discomfort. 

"Don't worry about it, John, you're straight, it obviously doesn't mean anything," he said, softly smiling at me. 

I returned his smile without worrying about what us facing one another, and smiling whilst holding hands would look like. His blue/green eyes made my heart skip a beat. Damn it, John, control yourself. 

Chips were passed out to the teams. Sherlock took ours. 

"And our game begins in ten, nine, eight..."

"Get ready to run, John. Follow me to the woods," Sherlock told me. 

I nodded and readjusted my feet. 

"...two, one, go!"

A whistle was blown. 

Sherlock tore off into the woods, he was fast, I'd give him that, but in between rugby and track, it was easy for me to match his pace. We flew into the woods as the two minute countdown began. Running over tree stumps and across streams, we must have run a quarter mile or so into the woods when he slowed down near a fairly large dying tree. 

He silently signaled for me to follow him as he climbed up into the paling branches. The tree was split in two directions leaving a sort of platform in the middle, we were reasonably high up from the ground. In the center of the platform was a person sized hole, revealing a hollow chamber within the tree. 

Sherlock dropped himself nimbly inside, and gestured for me to follow. I did so cautiously. 

When I was inside the dark chamber, I realized just how little space we had, our bodies were pressed against each other's. Legs tangled up, arms a jumble, faces inches apart. 

It was like a drug, a thick, heady, seductive drug, to feel him pressed up against me. His cologne filling my head, dulling my responses, his tight little button down shirt pressed against my tee. 

All I wanted to do was kiss him again, but I couldn't. I just couldn't. I was confused by this damn camp and all the sex jokes, guys telling me I had a great behind. It was too much, it was all too much. I wasn't gay, I didn't think about guys that way. I couldn't be. 

I don't know why I was so adamant about not being gay. I don't know. 

Sherlock had been quiet throughout all this. Just looking at me, looking at me with those eyes that made me take in a breath. Why did it have to be him, him with the perky ass and beautiful mind? Who fit me so perfectly, I had only known him a few days and yet it seemed that in another life he could've been my best friend. 

I needed to do something. Anything to break the tension. 

"How did you find this place?" I asked him softly. 

He blinked. 

"I've had a lot of time on my hands here. Considering I've been going to this camp for the summers since I was nine," he responded somewhat bitterly. 

"Why's that?" I questioned somewhat hesitantly. 

He sighed, as though he'd been asked serval times before. 

"Terri Blowman is my mother's cousin. She runs this whole camp. My mom, well, she doesn't care for us to be unoccupied during the summers, so she just throws us here. We get in for free. My brother being too old to be a camper, he now counsels. He actually likes it here, I think it's a huge bore," he explained, pursing his lips with dissatisfaction. 

A light went off in my mind. 

"Ah, yes, the brother! What is his name? You seem to resent him."

He gave a sadistic sort of chuckle at that. 

"His name is Mycroft. I suppose I do hold a certain level of resentment towards him. He's rather close to our mother, despite the fact that she constantly casts us aside. I also despise the fact that he consistently perpetuates a cheerful attitude, when in reality he's quite awful. If you're a terrible person, be a terrible person, there's no need to falsify yourself to make others feel good," he told me sternly. 

"I agree. People should just be honest with one another. It's better that way."

He quirked an eyebrow. 

"You really believe that?"

I nodded my agreement. I could barely see his face it was so dark, his eyes only casting a slight glimmer. 

He leaned forward, running his nose up my neck and to my ear, where his mouth brushed up against my earlobe. 

"Then let me tell you the honest truth, John," he absolutely purred. 

My heart was beating out of my chest, hands clenched firmly at my sides. What was happening?

"I think you're gay, or at the very least bisexual. And I think you're in denial about that fact for some reason. It couldn't be your parents, they sent you here. Your sister is a lesbian, so she's fine with it. And I also think that you want to get in my pants to bad, you're losing your mind," he finished, taking my earlobe in his mouth. 

I couldn't think, his rich cologne was still clouding my mind, the press of his shirt on my chest, his legs against mine, and the feeling of his dark curls in my hands. 

Wait. What? When did I wrap my arms around him? When did his leg come to press so deliciously against my dick? When did he start sucking on my neck?

Why did his tongue feel so good?

"Sherlock..." I trailed, not knowing what to say, how to stop this. 

If I wanted it to stop. 

He pulled away. 

"Yes, John?" I could see his full lips all parted and wet, even in the darkness. 

I closed my eyes. 

"I'm not gay."

He pulled away, exasperated. 

"Two steps forward, one step back," he mumbled quietly to himself. 

"I'm not!" I reiterated. 

He reached down and grabbed my throbbing erection through my jeans. 

"Why do you think you have this then? Did you ever get hard like this for Mary?"

I sputtered. 

"That's private, thank you very much,sir." I answered him defensively, his hand was still on my cock. 

"Let me guess, you never got that far. You claimed you wanted your first time to be special, that she wanted to wait. It wasn't her, John, it was you. You were the one who wanted to wait, to 'make it special' and what did you jack off thinking about? Her ass, John. Not her pretty face, or her great personality, which I'm sure she had, with my knowledge of you, but her ass. The one part of her that didn't have a gender. You didn't want a look at her pussy, or her breasts, but her behind. Why do you think that was, John?"

I was shaking. With anger, arousal, or both, I didn't know. All I could feel was him unzipping my jeans, all I could smell was the scent of his cologne, and all that I heard was that deep voice in my ear. 

How could he know that much about me? 

"I don't know," I said shortly, not pushing him away. 

He delved into my underwear with his warm hand that came to wrap around my aching member, and started jerking me ever so slowly. 

"I'll tell you why, John," he soothed with that damn hypnotic voice, "because you didn't want her tits or he vagina. You didn't want her ladylike voice, her pretty face. What you wanted was this."

He pressed every inch of himself against me, I could feel his hard on, against my thigh, his hand on my twitching cock. Legs tangled in mine, as he kissed me. 

His kiss wasn't, slow or sweet, it was needy and demanding. Pure sex. For a minute he wasn't some godlike intelligence, he was a teenage boy. A horny, pent up, wanton, 17 year old boy. With a hand in my pants, and I liked it. 

I really fucking liked it. 

He was right. He was always right, him and his damn superiority, sexy purple shirts, tight jeans and fucking sperm samples! I wanted him like I wanted air, a week into this camp, and he had me eating out of his hand. He could have me anyway he wanted. 

I pulled him closer to me, and opened my mouth to accept his searching tongue, reciprocating in full. 

His hands were off my dick now, and we're pulling me close to his body, as close as he could make it, every inch of him fit me perfectly, he was taller, and I melded into him like a puzzle piece. This is where I belonged, with him. Not Mary, or any other chick in the fucking world. 

Oh, fuck it! Damn it all to hell!

I fancied blokes. 

No. Not blokes. I fancied him. Sherlock Holmes in all his glory. The smartest damn man I had ever met. 

I moaned into his mouth brokenly, I was a complete wreck, falling apart in his hands, he was a really good kisser, it was making me lightheaded. This sin, this little secret we shared, like a whisper in the night, a hidden something that would be gone the next day. A perfect abomination. 

Suddenly, a whistle rang out. 

The game was over. We had won. 

He detached himself from me, I felt the loss painfully. 

He gave me one of his smiles that told me he knew everything about me in a single glance. 

"The game, John, is on," he said to me. 

I had the strangest feeling he wasn't talking about anything related to the camp. 

He climbed out of the tree, sending me a smile on his way out. 

"Let me know when you decide to stop being straight."

And he was gone. Leaving me alone, desperately aroused, and confused.

Damn it, Sherlock Holmes, what did you do to me?


End file.
